


Pog-Talk

by timehaschangedme



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Pog-Talk, poor couch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 08:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10873308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehaschangedme/pseuds/timehaschangedme
Summary: "Paul, let's do the Pog-talk!"Sometimes, Zlatan is annoying. Child-level annoying.





	Pog-Talk

“Paul, let’s do the Pog-talk!”  
Not amused at all, Paul watched Zlatan jumping on the couch of his apartment in Manchester, a big smile on his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes.  
“What?” asked the French, not sure if he had understood the request correctly. Zlatan was comparable to a five-years-old sometimes.  
“I’m having a Pog- fried chicken for dinner, do you want pog-some?” Was the answer, followed by a joyful laugh.  
“What are you saying? I don’t talk like that! And that’s my couch, get your feet off of it” Retorted Paul, feeling both amused and disappointed by the way their evening was going.  
Inviting him there, he had firstly hoped to be on the receiving end of cuddling, then maybe have some junk food with a side of salad to pretend it was actually healthy, a movie playing in the background and nonsense jokes to end the evening.  
Apparently, he was going to get only the jokes part tonight.  
He sighed. Zlatan was now jumping up and down the cushions, knowing it annoyed the crap out of him.  
“C’mon, amuse me! Pog-talk to me! Pauuuuulllll” he repeated. God, he was such a child.  
Well, if Zlatan was looking for trouble, who was he to say no?  
“If you want Pog-chicken, I need a Pog-pizza, with a lot of Pog-pepperoni on it. Care to give me my Pog-phone, so I can order Pog-takeaway?”  
As Zlatan laughed his ass off, Paul couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of himself. It was him, after all. He was the one making Zlatan laugh like that.  
“I knew you had it in you, but you know what?” asked Zlatan, coming closer.  
“What?”  
“I’m impressed” finished the Swedish, smiling wickedly, stopping right in front of him and smooching a big, noisy kiss on the French’s forehead. “Now order in, I’m starving!”  
Paul blushed and thanked God for his skin tone, recognising it was the umpteenth time it happened since that man had come into his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I've discovered recently these two guys and they've just kept on hunting me until I wrote this down. So, it's actually their fault.  
> Plus, I think I'm seriously creating a pairing here, I'M EXCITED.  
> Comment/Kudo if you like it please!


End file.
